


I want the world to go away

by sleeplessmiles



Series: fast blood [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Blood, Gen, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: AGE OF ULTRON SPOILERS.</p><p>In the aftermath of her transformation, Jemma goes to drastic lengths to protect May and Skye from her powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want the world to go away

**Author's Note:**

> So!! Here we are. _only to find I've come alive ___was COMPLETELY intended to be a standalone one-shot, but then everyone demanded that I write more, and as it turns out, I have a lot more of this story to tell.
> 
> As with last time, please note the warnings in the tags. Also, if you haven't seen Age of Ultron and don't want to be spoiled mildly for some aspects of that, I'd turn away now.  
>     
> See you on the other side!!

 

 

They run. 

They run, because there’s nothing else they can do.

No one can help Jemma, because no one knows _how_. No one knows how to stop her pain. And as long as she can’t be around other people – as long as that hurts others, hurts _her_ – Maria won’t come to get them.

They’re on their own.

So they run.

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

‘This is so fucking stupid.’ 

‘Skye,’ May growls, not taking her eyes off the road. The trees whiz past the car windows at a fearsome rate, but none of it does anything to defuse Skye’s desperate anger.

‘No, May – she needs help _now_ , what are we supposed to do while they – ’

‘ – They’re trying, they just need some time to – ’ 

‘ – But she needs it _now_.’

‘And what help would that be?’ May asks, the strain of impatience creeping into her voice. Skye doesn’t bother replying, because it’s pretty redundant at this point; they both know the answer to that question.

Jemma needs Jiaying. Jemma needs the guidance of the other Inhumans.

But she can’t get it.

It’s war, and Jemma’s just another casualty.

With her free hand – the one that isn’t busy smoothing the hair off of Jemma’s face in a ridiculous attempt to be comforting – Skye backhands frustrated tears from her eyes.

‘I told you,’ May continues. ‘Maria’s exhausting other avenues first.’ 

‘What, Asgard?’ Skye scoffs, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘ _Sif?_ Remember that time she – wait, what was it again? Oh, that’s right: _she_ _tried to kill me_.’

‘Skye.’

‘And she’ll only do the same to Jemma – God, why would Maria even – ’

‘She’s looking for options!’ May half-yells, raising her voice for the first time in this whole ordeal. Skye falls silent at the outburst, heart aching at the desperation in her SO’s voice.

It’s a long, tense moment before May sighs, visibly composing herself.

‘She’s looking for options. And right now? We _need_ options.’

She’s right. 

They have nothing. 

Jemma releases a weak groan in Skye’s lap then, struggling a little to lift her head up, and Skye knows what the motion means by this point. God, how she wishes she didn’t, but she does. She reaches for the grotty plastic bag.

(It was all they had.)

‘I’m – ’

Jemma can’t even get the rest of the sentence out before she’s retching again, horrible sounds ripping from her throat and seeming to echo around the small space. Pulling Jemma’s hair back, Skye holds the bag up to her friend’s lips, watching the bloody splatter with a sense of rising panic and wishing, not for the first time, that they could risk stopping at a gas station for a bottle of water. 

When the heaving fades away again – when Jemma settles back down onto Skye’s lap, looking beyond spent – Skye starts shaking her head.

(It’s too much blood.) 

‘She’s still puking blood. We’ve – we have to do something, May.’

May meets her eyes in the rearview mirror.

‘Does she have a fever?’ she asks. Skye sits her hand on Jemma’s forehead for a moment, before letting it gently rest on the girl’s cheek for comparison. Beneath the blood and grime, her cheeks are flushed an unhealthy pink.

‘She’s – yeah, God, she’s burning up.’

Pressing her lips together grimly, May says nothing more. Before Skye can ask what to do next (because she has to do _something_ , she can’t just sit back and watch Jemma d– Jemma _suffer_ ), Jemma mumbles a little, almost completely inaudible. Her lips are only just moving, and Skye leans her head closer to try to make out her words.

‘Sorry?’ 

Jemma clears her throat, forcing her eyes open with what looks to be a great deal of pain. 

‘I’m trying,’ she vows, voice feeble, before her eyelids give up the fight and flutter shut again. Her brow is creased, and Skye finds herself absently smoothing out the lines without conscious thought.

‘I know,’ she whispers back. ‘We know you are.’ 

In the front, May steps down harder on the accelerator. 

They can’t go on like this. 

Looking down at Jemma, Skye racks her brain. There has to be _something_ she can do to help, something to ease the pain – even if it’s only a little bit.

What would Jemma do?

She’d look at the cause of the problem, right? Look at the symptoms.

Okay.

Alright.

She can do this. 

‘It’s got to be from the pain,’ she thinks aloud, and she doesn’t bother adding anything further. She doesn’t need to say how bad the pain must be for her to be vomiting _blood_. The terrible knowledge is written all over May’s face, anyway.

But what if it’s not from the pain? Could it be from the actual transformation? The mist changes your blood, they know that much; it added all that funky crap into her DNA, into Raina’s DNA, and whatever was already there was –

Skye stiffens.

_Shit._

‘The virus…’ she mutters to herself, feeling distinctly panicked. She looks up to meet May’s eyes in the mirror again, sure that her own face must be frantic. ‘May, the Chitauri virus. What if it’s – I don’t know, reacting badly with her blood or something?’

How much does the whole Inhuman thing change your blood? Does Jemma still have immunity to the Chitauri thing, or is that gone too? Is it – would it attack her new blood? Would her new blood attack the old? How does any of this even work? 

God, how much alien shit is in Jemma’s bloodstream?

Fuck. _Fuck_. She doesn’t know anything about science.

(She tries not to think about how the one person who would be able to help is currently hissing in agony, painted in the very blood that’s betraying her.)

May’s lips are still set in a firm line.

‘It’s possible,’ she says, but there’s a weird quality to her voice that pulls Skye up short.

‘But you don’t think so.’

May hesitates. 

‘ _May._ ’

‘You gave yourself stress fractures,’ she provides, her voice flat.

Skye blinks.

_What?_

Shaking her head in confusion, she asks, ‘What’s that got to do with – ’

‘You gave yourself stress fractures,’ May repeats. She sounds _devastated_. ‘And Jemma’s vomiting blood.’

Realisation hits Skye like a physical blow to the chest, the comprehension of what’s happening washing over her in wave after horrifying wave.

No.

Oh, God, _no_.

Jemma’s doing this to herself. To save _them_.

It makes morbid, terrible sense – _fuck_ , the vomiting only started after she’d reined in her powers that first time. And it’s never touched May and Skye, has it? Not like everyone else. Apart from the aftermath of the chrysalis, apart from the slight tugging on her chest whenever Jemma starts groaning, Skye has felt none of it.

Because Jemma’s been directing her powers inwards. Making herself bleed in the hopes that no one else has to.

In the hopes that _May and Skye_ won’t have to.

 _I’m trying_ , she keeps telling them, and she _is_. She’s trying to keep them safe from it all. She’s trying to – 

Oh, God. 

She’s been shielding them.

‘How do we make it stop?’ Skye pleads, tears clogging her throat and making her voice thick, but she can’t stop herself now. 

(Not when Jemma is literally killing herself to keep them alive.)

‘I… don’t know.’

‘We can’t just _leave_ her.’

‘We won’t,’ May insists, all ferocious promise.

‘But we’re hurting her! We have to…’ Have to _what_ , exactly? They’ve got nothing. They’ve got fucking _nothing_ , and Jemma’s hurting herself so that she doesn’t kill them – _kill_ them, for fuck’s sake, _Jemma Simmons_ – and Inhuman or not, no one can lose that much blood. No one.

How do they help her when it’s their presence that’s killing her? 

‘We just have to hope that Maria comes through,’ May murmurs eventually, and Skye can feel a stifling sense of defeat settling in around them in the cramped space.

Hope.

That used to mean something, she’s sure of it.

Jemma shifts then, her dry, blood-speckled lips twisting into a grimace. ‘Hurts,’ she sighs.

‘I’m sorry,’ Skye croaks out.

‘‘m… trying.’

 _Jemma_.

‘I know,’ Skye promises her on a whisper, ignoring the way her tears are openly falling onto Jemma’s face, now. She sniffs, swallowing back a sob. ‘I _know_. And you’re doing so well, okay?’

Jemma’s breath stutters, and oh, her dumb, sacrificial idiot. _Jemma._

‘So, so well,’ she whispers fiercely, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. ‘But I swear to God, if you kill yourself for me I’m gonna kick your ass.’

She huffs out a slightly heavier breath at that.

‘Hey, I’m _serious_ ,’ Skye warns.

Jemma doesn’t respond.

They drive on.

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

Every so often, they come within range of a small town.

It doesn’t happen much; May’s taking extra care to stick to deserted highways, putting as many miles between them and other people as possible. But sometimes, inevitably, they seem to drift a little too close to a remote township.

They know this because Jemma starts groaning. And sobbing. 

And, on three separate occasions, _screaming_. 

Skye doesn’t have any idea how large Jemma’s range is, but she knows how powerful she is herself. And she knows how powerful Jemma’s mind is. 

So if Skye can move mountains –

She _really_ doesn’t want to consider the fate of the people in the towns they pass.

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

As it turns out, May hasn’t just been driving as far away from civilisation as possible, like Skye assumed – they’ve actually been heading towards a safehouse, apparently. They follow the winding gravel driveway for a few miles, taking them further from the main road and deeper into the woods, until finally they reach a small cabin nestled away in the thick of the trees.

It’s cute, really, but Skye’s had a few too many shitty experiences with remote cabins lately to fully appreciate it.

She’s about to make sure SHIELD doesn’t know about this place – God, the _last_ thing they need right now is SHIELD on their asses – but May guesses what she’s thinking. 

‘My mother’s,’ is all May provides as they manouevre a limp, barely conscious Jemma in through the front door, and um _wow_? Skye has about a million questions about _that_ revelation, but when Jemma’s breath hitches in pain, she figures now isn’t really the best time.

(It is, however, the best time to pull a face when May makes her kick her shoes off at the door.)

They manage to get Jemma to the bathroom easily enough, but they quickly decide against getting her into the shower – not when she can barely stand. Not like this. So May flips the toilet lid down, gently guiding Jemma to sit on it as she goes in search of some kind of washcloth, and Skye fills the basin with warm water. 

They need to get rid of some of this blood. 

May’s just started dabbing at Jemma’s face with the cloth, hands as gentle as Skye’s seen them, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

Movement in the basin. 

The water is being _weird_ , and Skye’s not the one causing it.

She watches, rapt, as it seems to form startlingly precise rippling patterns. It’s nothing like what Skye can do to water; this seems more… almost tidal? It’s kind of pulsing, rocking from side to side, like waves in the ocean.

Pushing and pulling.

That’s –

Huh.

‘May,’ Skye says slowly, quietly, so as to not startle Jemma. May looks across, following Skye’s gaze to the water.

‘That’s not you?’

She shakes her head.

May firms her lips.

‘Later.’

And Skye gets it - she does. One thing at a time.

(Even so, she can’t help but wonder what they’ll do when later arrives.)

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

As May finishes up with Jemma, Skye decides to stop hovering uselessly and goes to grab her phone, see what she can do with it. They haven’t contacted SHIELD since leaving Afterlife; they just couldn’t risk their location being tracked. But now, with everything a little less frantic, she thinks it’s probably worth seeing if she can bounce the signal elsewhere so that she can at least let them know what’s happening.

Fitz had been inconsolable. Hunter, too. 

God, she hopes they haven’t done anything stupid.

And then May exits the bathroom, physically carrying Jemma in her arms, and Skye forgets about the phone in two seconds flat. 

She rushes over to help, but May only shakes her head, depositing the motionless girl gently on the bed and propping her up against the headboard. _So that she doesn’t choke_ , Skye realises. In case she vomits.

(The thought makes _her_ want to choke.)

Satisfied that Jemma’s comfortable enough, May makes to leave, but Jemma clearly has other ideas. She gives a little distressed sound of protest, grabbing at May’s sleeve and tugging – once, twice – and Skye can’t even see May’s face but she can read it in the line of her SO’s posture.

She’s going to stay.

Sure enough, she doesn’t even pause before sitting herself up on the bed next to Jemma, hesitating only slightly before putting her arm around the girl and pulling her closer. Jemma rolls into her side easily.

‘May?’ she breathes, from where her head is now pillowed on May’s stomach. May hums to indicate that she’s listening, but it’s a long time before Jemma manages to speak again. 

(When she does, Skye almost wishes she hadn’t.)

‘I’m scared,’ she whispers, her voice broken and filled with dread, and her eyes are closed against what she clearly believes to be some horrible confession. Skye has to swallow down the strangled cry in her throat, because of course it’s this that’s concerning her. Of course. Not the ridiculous amount of pain she’s in, but the fact that she isn’t staring it down bravely. It’s typical Jemma.

But May only strokes a hand along the girl’s cheek, her touch unsure and yet so, _so_ reverent. 

‘I know,’ she replies, nodding. ‘But that’s okay.’

‘It is?’

‘Of course,’ May assures her. She hesitates then, and the way she glances up at Skye before looking back down at Jemma feels very deliberate. ‘I’m… a bit scared myself.’

Everyone is silent for a moment. 

‘Sorry,’ Jemma whispers guiltily. 

‘Hey,’ May chides, her voice gentle. Skye has to wonder if Jemma’s too delirious from pain to notice how tactile May’s being, if she’s too out-of-it to fully appreciate what’s happening here, because the woman is actively smoothing the hair back from Jemma’s face now.

‘It’s not you I’m afraid of, Jemma.’

Skye knows this to be true. She’s exactly the same.

Because it’s the situation. It’s two factions at war with the three women caught in the middle, hunted and forgotten. It’s the unknowns pressing in around them, threatening everything they treasure. 

But it’s not Jemma.

Never Jemma.

Jemma’s eyes drift shut once more, forehead creasing – another wave of pain, probably. ‘It should be,’ she sighs.

Almost as though in protest, May grips her shoulder again, pulling her closer still.

‘May?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Please don’t leave me,’ she breathes, and even from across the room, Skye can see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

May clenches her jaw, the very picture of fierce determination.

‘Never.’

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

Skye’s been ignoring it for hours now, but it’s time. She has to let it out.

It has to be hurting Jemma too, by this point.

‘Hey, um. May?’ 

She looks up.

‘Do you think your mom would mind if I – ’ May watches her expectantly. She winces. ‘Um. Flattened a bunch of her trees?’ 

Something like a smirk tugs at May’s lips, although the mirth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

‘I'm sure she’ll get over it.’ 

(When Skye hikes far enough from the cabin, when she finally, _finally_  cries out, it’s with all the pain and stress and fear and injustice and just _wrong_ of everything from the past week.

The forest never stood a chance.)

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

Skye isn’t sure what she’d been expecting to find when she returned to the cabin, exactly, but what she _does_ find is May murmuring soothingly to Jemma, nonsensical comfort falling from her lips as she runs a hand through the girl’s hair. The tenderness of the image before her, the sheer concern and admiration and _love_ that’s radiating from May, makes Skye ache in a way that brings recent events into sharp relief.

And she knows she has to clear the air. 

‘I shouldn’t have brought up Bahrain,’ she blurts, cringing as soon as she does. May’s hand stills in Jemma’s hair, but Skye forces herself to keep going anyway.

‘It was out of line. I’m sorry.’

May keeps her eyes fixed on the top of Jemma’s head. 

Nobody speaks for a long time.

‘I only ever told Andrew what happened in there,’ May eventually murmurs. ‘With…’

Skye’s stomach drops.

No one else knows May took the shot.

And she’d just unwittingly told Coulson.

‘God, I’m – ’

‘It caught me off-guard, that’s all,’ May cuts in. She looks up to meet Skye’s eyes. ‘I didn’t know it was your mother. I was… concerned, that you’d placed your trust in them so readily. I spoke poorly of them and it wasn’t right. I deserved it.’

Everything within Skye rebels against the suggestion.

 _No_.

‘You didn’t.’ 

From the way May purses her lips, it’s clear she disagrees.

‘May. You _didn’t_.’

She doesn’t reply to that, but she holds Skye’s gaze for the longest time before going back to stroking a hand through Jemma’s hair. Skye’s smart enough to realize that it’s as close as they’re going to get right now, and she seriously wants to just drop it and move on, but there’s something in the terrified way May keeps regarding Jemma that makes Skye stick with it.

Because May’s looking at Jemma like she could disappear at any moment. 

‘The girl,’ Skye begins, too hesitant. 

(She doesn’t elaborate. She knows May’s with her.)

‘She wasn’t meant to go through the mist. You’re meant to be, like, observed or something? Before you go through it.’ Walking further into the room, she drops into the seat opposite the bed. ‘There was too much darkness in her, so they didn’t let her do it. But her mom did it anyway.’

There’s a long pause.

‘Jemma wasn’t meant to go through it,’ May says, her voice slow.

‘Yeah,’ Skye breathes. She watches as that plays over her mentor’s face, as she considers what this means for Jemma.

How it makes her different.

‘There’s so much goodness in her,’ May murmurs, watching Jemma’s slackened face, and Skye can hear what she’s not saying: how can someone like Jemma Simmons have such a destructive power? 

‘It’s not like there’s any real logic to the powers though, right? I mean, look at me.’ She waves her hands in front of her face. ‘Earthquakes. Who’d’ve thought, right?’

‘You’re joking,’ May says flatly.

Skye blinks.

‘Uh, no?’ 

May raises an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth pulling into a tired smirk. ‘Making shockwaves wherever you go? Sounds right to me.’

The early stirrings of a grin play at Skye’s lips.

And then –

And then she’s flung out of her seat and into the opposite wall, a crushing pressure pushing against her lungs. She watches in horror as May is thrown back too, crashing into the bedside lamp and clawing at her throat helplessly.

Jemma is motionless on the bed. 

‘Jemma – ’ Skye chokes out.

No movement. 

 _No_.

She tries desperately to wrench her arm away from the wall, only pushing harder when she meets invisible resistance, and finally manages to free it enough to –

She sends a pulse at the bed, jolting it.

Jemma lifts her head, blinking laboriously, and then sits bolt upright when she sees what’s happening. In an instant, Skye is freed, dropping to the ground. Across the room, May takes a gasping breath in.

‘I’m sorry!’ Jemma’s crying out. There’s blood streaming down her face, dripping from her chin onto her shirt, but it doesn’t even register. ‘I’m so sorry!’ 

‘It’s alright,’ May croaks, but Jemma shakes her head.

‘It was just… just for a minute – ’

‘It’s _alright_.’ 

‘I’m just – I’m so _tired_ ,’ she whimpers, her shoulders trembling with the weight of her small sobs. Cold realisation floods Skye.

She’d fallen asleep.

She’d lost control because she’d fallen asleep.

She can’t rest. 

May’s already crawling back onto the bed, guiding Jemma’s head back onto her shoulder, and Skye finds her feet moving of their own accord until she’s at Jemma’s other side, climbing up onto the bed and curling herself around her.

‘No,’ Jemma protests lamely, voice at a feeble whine. ‘I’m… it’s too dangerous.’

Skye sighs into Jemma’s shoulder. ‘So am I.’ 

‘I’ll hurt you,’ she whispers back. This time, May beats Skye to a response.

‘Not possible.’

Jemma starts crying again, but there aren’t any sobs this time - only silence, only tear after tear rolling down her cheeks, washing the blood away. 

They don’t let go.

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

Skye’s still wrapped protectively around Jemma a few hours later, the girl keeping herself stubbornly awake in a state of semi-consciousness, when May excuses herself for some fresh air. Her face is all terrified resignation when she returns, and Skye immediately knows what has happened.

She got the call.

‘Maria’s bringing a jet,’ May provides. ‘Extraction.’

Extraction.

So they’ve got some kind of plan.

(Oddly enough, it only fills Skye with more dread.)

‘Did you tell her I cleared them a landing space?’

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

They know the quinjet is close before they can even see it.

It starts off as a sort of restlessness, with Jemma showing a bit more movement than she’s managed for the past few hours. That’s when they first suspect. That’s how it starts.

By the time they spot the jet in the distance, she’s already sweating profusely, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted together.

(Skye hopes they’ve got one hell of a plan.)

As the jet lands in the cleared patch behind the cabin, they leverage Jemma into a standing position; a miracle, Skye thinks, given how exhausted her friend is, how tense with pain. She’s panting heavily, and she seems to be leaning the majority of her weight onto Skye – her knees keep buckling clumsily – but it’s better than they expected.

It’s something.

She’s still fighting. She’s fading fast, but she’s still fighting.

 _Just hold on, Jemma_ , Skye thinks. _Just a bit longer_.

_Hold on._

Working together, Skye and May manage to shuffle Jemma out the back door, step by painstakingly slow step, and they’re around ten feet closer to the jet by the time the plane’s ramp lowers. Maria Hill steps out first, looking as flawless as ever, followed by –

Holy crap. 

‘No way,’ Skye breathes. ‘Is that the _Black Widow_?’

Jemma makes a little squeaking noise, struggling to open her eyes, and despite everything, Skye can’t bite back her tired grin at the sight. Of _course_. Pretty much at death’s door and yet still perking up at any mention of the female Avenger.

Jemma Simmons is _shameless._

May looks across too, faint amusement dancing at her lips and briefly overpowering the worry there.

‘Of course,’ she deadpans. ‘I’ve got her on speed dial.’

Skye’s just opening her mouth to respond, barely even paying attention to the third figure emerging from the quinjet, when Jemma’s knees buckle beneath her without warning. Skye has to stagger a little to keep her friend upright.

‘Oh no,’ Jemma says to herself, voice at a low whine. Skye looks over at her face and as she watches, the tiniest trickle of blood leaks from one of her nostrils.

Her heart sinks.

‘May,’ Skye warns. Her SO takes a step closer, hovering at Jemma’s other shoulder. 

‘Oh _God_ ,’ Jemma grits out, doubling over suddenly and shit, _shit_ –  

‘What can we do?’ Skye pleads, hand on Jemma’s spine and meeting May’s gaze, silent desperation passing between them.

‘It’s…’ Jemma’s shaking her head tensely, ‘different. It – _aches_.’

How can it be different? How can it be different, when all the other pain she’s felt has come from so many sources and yet felt the same? How can –

Wait.

Skye straightens up, looking over at the jet. 

There’s another woman walking confidently forward – clad in a distinctive red leather jacket, her long, wild hair flying out around her.

(And Skye had been pretty freaking distracted when everything went down so she’d only really seen bits and pieces of the footage, but anyone who can shoot red magic crap out of their hands should be approached with a little caution, she feels.)

Suddenly, she’s furious. Is that who’s doing this? Is this woman in pain? Why the _fuck_ would Maria bring someone in a lot of pain when they told her what the situation is, they _told_ her – 

‘Fuck!’ Jemma growls, gritting her teeth, and Skye’s heard her potty-mouthed friend swear before but never like this. Never as a warning. She’s trembling all over now, still doubled over; there’s blood dripping more steadily from her nose, big splotches falling to the ground at an alarming rate. Her hands are clutching at her own biceps, and Skye realises that her nails are digging into the skin there, drawing blood.

Reaching across, she tugs at one of Jemma’s hands until her grip loosens, hand coming away bloodied. Not even flinching at the sight, Skye slips her hand into Jemma’s. She gives it a tight squeeze.

It seems to barely even seems to register.

Jemma only curls in on herself even further.

‘It’s – too much – ’

 _Shit._  

‘May!’ Skye calls.

‘On it!’ May mutters, taking off at a jog to meet the newcomers. Skye turns back to Jemma, who – fuck, the blood’s run out of her face completely; she’s deathly pale, _fuck_ –

‘Jemma, listen to me. You can do this.’ 

(But how? How does she stop it? How do they make this stop?)

‘I can’t!’ 

‘You can!’ she insists. ‘Hey, look at me. Just a bit longer, okay? They’re going to help you.’

Jemma squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, breathing laboured, and Skye’s panicking now. She’s panicking, and she knows it’s only making Jemma’s pain worse but she can’t stop it, she can’t swallow it down, because how can she? They’re here and they’re Jemma’s only hope but they’re only making it worse, they’re not helping her, _why won’t they help her –_

‘I’m so-sorry…’ 

‘For what?’ she asks, desperation spilling into her voice. ‘You’re doing – it’s okay, you’re doing great!’

She hears choking sounds behind her now, gasping, and she doesn’t have to turn to know what’s happening to the other women. There’s a familiar tugging at her own lungs, the feeling of pressure on her windpipe, and no, _no_ , hold _on_ Jemma, just a bit longer –

A stream of red light shoots between them, separating their hands and throwing Skye to the ground.

The choking sounds stop, replaced by relieved gasps.

Jemma’s back is rigid, and her entire body seems to be paralysed. She’s frozen in place by some other force, her eyes darting around in terror, and Skye’s shocked, overtired mind makes the connection. She looks across to confirm.

It is. 

It’s the witch.

Outraged, Skye feels a now familiar surge of power building in her fingertips.

And then, all hell breaks loose. 

‘What the hell!’ she cries out, bringing her hands up and aiming a pulse at the woman. The force knocks her off her feet, breaking whatever hold she has over Jemma.

Someone’s yelling. Maria, maybe.

Skye doesn’t care. 

She’s back on her feet, hands raised, and she strides forward so that she’s between Jemma and the woman in red, because if this lady honestly thinks Skye’s just going to let her –

Jemma makes a gutwrenching sobbing sound, almost like a cough, the likes of which Skye has never heard before, and everyone sinks to their knees, struggling for breath. It’s more powerful this time, Skye distantly registers, and it occurs to her for the first time that it might not just be Jemma’s inexperience with the powers that’s hurting people.

It could just be that her instinct is to hurt, now.

(It couldn't be. It _couldn't_. Not Jemma.)

The magic lady raises her hands, as though to cast another spell, and Skye’s vision is swimming but she won’t let her, she won’t let her get into Jemma’s head, she won’t let Jemma hurt for this –

‘Let… her do it!’ Natasha calls out, eerily calm despite the pain on her face, despite the way her breathing’s clearly constricted. It only makes Skye hesitate for a split second, but it’s enough; the woman sends another spark of red over to Jemma, freezing her in place once more.

As everyone’s lungs are released, Skye barely lets herself recover before she’s scrambling over to Jemma on hands and knees, jumping up to grab at her. For her part, May draws her gun on the other women, stalking the couple of steps across so that she’s standing in front of both Skye and Jemma.

‘Mind telling me who the hell she is?’ she demands, gesturing at the magic lady with her pistol. Maria’s standing with her hand on the holstered gun at her hip – she still hasn’t drawn, which Skye would consider weird if she wasn’t already aware of how much Maria respects May.

‘May, this is Wanda Maximoff. She fought with the Avengers in Sokovia.’

It’s clear that May couldn’t give a shit about the Avengers right now.

Skye can relate. 

‘What’s she doing to Simmons?’

Maria hesitates, which is alarming – it’s not something Skye’s ever seen, at any rate – but it quickly passes, replaced by the cool composure they’re all much more accustomed to seeing from the woman.

‘Helping her,’ she states, voice sure and unwavering.

 _Try again_ , Skye thinks, wrapping an arm tighter around Jemma’s waist.

‘How,’ May spits out, and it’s so far from a question that Skye wonders whether anyone will even answer.

(Jemma makes a little _mmph_ sound then, head drooping slightly, and Skye rubs a hand against her back.)

‘She can stop whatever Agent Simmons is doing to herself and other – ’

‘ _How._ ’

‘She can get into her head – ’

‘No way,’ Skye hisses, at the same time that May swears, ‘Absolutely not.’

Maria tilts her head the tiniest bit, looking distinctly peeved. ‘May.’

Skye wants to jump in and tell Maria how terrible an idea it is to try to sell May on mind control, but she doesn’t get the chance. Natasha Romanoff begins to walk towards May, and it quickly becomes clear exactly why she’s tagged along on this extraction.

‘Melinda. It’s alright.’

May hesitates. ‘She can barely control – ’

‘I let it happen to me.’

Skye watches as that pulls May up short. ‘ _You_. Let her into your head.’

Natasha shrugs, her lips twitching. 

‘More or less.’

‘Nat,’ May says warningly.

‘Fine, she got into my head to try to mess me up, but it worked out okay.’ She takes another step towards May, who still hasn’t lowered her firearm, but she’s wavering. Skye can see that she’s wavering.

‘Point is, I can personally vouch for her. She can _help_ , May.’

She’s only a few feet from May now, and Skye wonders if the famous Black Widow would be able to disarm Melinda May. She’s _certain_ the famous Black Widow can see how May’s fingers are trembling – only a little bit, granted, but it’s there.

(God, not mind control. Not _again._ )

And then May drops her arm, shoulders sagging in defeat.

 _What?_  

‘Wait, just like that?’

The women turn to look at her. 

‘Problem?’ Natasha asks simply. Skye makes an incredulous face, gesturing at the magic lady – Wanda – with her free hand.

‘I don’t trust her.’

Wanda laughs, a low bitter noise, and raises her eyebrows at Skye. ‘I don’t really trust _you_.’

‘Due respect, lady, but I’m not the one messing around in people’s minds, so if you’ve – ’

‘Skye,’ May cuts in.

‘She’s still bleeding, May!’ Sure enough, there’s still a steady stream of blood running from Jemma’s nose. Skye regards them angrily. ‘If this was helping at all, she wouldn’t be bleeding.’ 

They all look to Wanda. Wanda only looks annoyed. ‘She’s keeping me out.’

Skye scoffs. ‘I’m sorry, what?’ 

‘I’ve never seen anything like it, but she’s… something’s blocking me. I can help her if she lets me in.’ When she turns to Skye then, she’s not irritated anymore.

She’s sad.

‘You need to get her to stop it.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Skye.’

‘No, May!’

‘She can get some rest, medical attention…’ Maria tries. ‘She’ll be dehydrated, at the very least. We can treat that.’

‘And we’ve got a really great doctor,’ Natasha tacks on.

She needs rest. She needs a doctor.

But not like this.

Anything but this – anything but this invasion of Jemma’s mind, however fleeting it might be.

‘Skye,’ May says, and her voice is so broken that Skye’s next argument dies upon her lips. 

(Her mentor’s face is _distraught_.)

‘We’ve got no other choice.’

Skye shakes her head, but she’s lost. She’s at a loss.

Because May's right.

She has to do it. 

 _Please forgive me for this_ , she thinks. _Please._

‘Jemma?’ she tries, turning to her. Jemma’s eyes flutter open, and they’re dazed but they lock onto Skye’s with ease. Skye swallows, pained. ‘Jemma, you’ve got to let go.’

‘What?’ she asks, voice groggy. She can barely keep her eyes open.

‘Just… whatever you’re doing. To protect us, to keep her out. Just let it go.’ 

Jemma’s gaze becomes alarmed.

‘Skye, I – I won’t. That’s not…’ and she never finishes the sentence, but Skye knows what she’s trying to say.

If it comes down to Jemma dying or all of them dying, there isn’t even a choice.

Not for Jemma Simmons. 

It’s jumping off the plane, it’s shielding a grenade with her body, it’s dragging a lifeless body to the surface of the ocean on a single breath. 

Instinct and reason, combining in the most noble and selfless of ways.

And it’s going to kill her.

‘We’ll catch you,’ Skye promises. It comes out like a sob.

‘I won’t do it. It’ll… kill you.’

‘We’ll – look at me.’ She does. ‘It’s okay. She’ll stop it.’

Jemma purses her trembling lips.

‘Let go,’ comes May’s voice from behind Skye, and suddenly she’s there at Jemma’s other side, rubbing her arm in comfort. ‘It’s alright. It’ll be alright, I promise. You just have to let go.’

Jemma looks between them for one long, terrible moment that feels as though it stretches on forever. Skye’s holding her breath.

Then, with a pained expression, she nods, closing her eyes.

As they watch, the blood streaming from her nose slows to a trickle before stopping altogether. 

Skye braces herself, fully prepared for Jemma’s abilities to overpower Wanda, for everyone to drop dead, _for Jemma to be left alone in this –_  

But nothing happens.

They’re alright.

Skye looks around.

Everyone’s alright. Holy shit. It worked. 

And then, without warning, Jemma’s dead weight slumps forward into Skye’s arms.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> CLEARLY THERE WILL BE A PART THREE. please don't hurt me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Hope you all survived the finale!!


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